


Morning Star

by telluricThanatologist



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Domestic Bliss, F/F, Fluff, Morning Routines, Morning Sex, Size Difference
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-07
Updated: 2014-01-07
Packaged: 2018-01-07 20:36:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1124119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/telluricThanatologist/pseuds/telluricThanatologist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are lots of points upon which Jane counts herself very lucky, as a matter of fact, and she's got to admit (if only to herself) that up near the top of that list is the second sunrise she gets treated to every morning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Morning Star

**Author's Note:**

  * For [baths](https://archiveofourown.org/users/baths/gifts).



If there's one point upon which Jane Crocker counts herself very lucky indeed, it's that her sleep schedule didn't need a _complete_ overhaul so that she and her girlfriend could more or less spend their days together. True, Jane is still a firm believer in that old "early to bed, early to rise" aphorism, whereas you could say Porrim is just a little more relaxed about the whole the-early-bird-gets-the-worm deal. Or the-early-flapbeast-gets-the-grub, maybe. As it were. Having successfully created a new universe boasting a planet that's a sort of curious mishmash of Earth, Beforus, and Alternia is as good a reason as any to expand one's cultural horizons.

But there are lots of points upon which Jane counts herself very lucky, as a matter of fact, and she's got to admit (if only to herself) that up near the top of that list is the second sunrise she gets treated to every morning.

Their humble abode sits out near where Jane's own dear little house sat long ago, near the shore of the crater-lake she just couldn't bring herself to give up when she and her old and new friends rebuilt everyone's homes and favourite haunts as well as they could. Or reimagined them entirely, as the case might be -- and the case _definitely_ was so here, with a generous dollop of mixing and matching.

Jane's experience with castles and towers and other properly grand and impressive structures is still pretty limited, and she bets it'll stay that way. But, as far as she's concerned, the space she and Porrim carved out for themselves on their new world takes the metaphorical and occasionally literal cake. It soaks up the sunshine and scent of warm lake water from a dizzying height that Jane has to crane and crane her neck to see all of: a pair of pure icing-sugar-white towers adorned all over with long, sweeping swaths of fabric in deep, rich jewel tones, emerald green and magenta and scarlet and brilliant gold and robin's-egg blue. The towers jut here and there with little hints of everything she could think to include when it came to her own house, too: here, a funny squarish turret of sorts that she decided would be her kitchen and accordingly lined with all of the cookware she could fit into it; there, a tall cluster of windows that she's pretty darn sure are all precise doubles of her own bedroom window, though admittedly scaled up by a mighty margin.

Though, if you were to ask her (and she is something of an expert by now!), Jane would absolutely, without one moment of hesitation, say that the best part of all is the series of endless narrow walkways that unfurl themselves from her own tower to Porrim's and wrap around it like curls of coconut. It makes little things like dropping in for emergency kisses and cuddles -- and other things that go just a jot beyond kisses and cuddles -- much more convenient.

This particular morning, like many mornings before, it's been a few hours after the sun has first risen and Jane's already been bustling about as quietly as she can manage. She's just about to fret over the fact that she could _really_ use to be able to get at that extra-extra- _extra_ large griddle in Porrim's tower, since they haven't had her world-famous red velvet pancakes in what's got to be _ages_ , when she hears the telltale thunderous creak of the gigantic fuchsia and ebony-black chaise longue in the substantially stouter and taller west tower. She's long given up trying to suppress the goofy grin that stubbornly sticks itself to her face then. In any case, it wouldn't do for her to let Porrim go without a good-morning kiss, she reasons, because she won't be breaking that tradition today or any time soon. Plus, now she'll be able to safely proceed with breakfast business without the risk of disturbing her girlfriend, and so off she dutifully goes.

Soon after that point in her routine, if the weather is agreeable, streams of white-gold sunlight will begin pouring through the windows like rivulets of white chocolate, crisscrossing one another and gleefully bouncing off of the mirrors, the glossy fine furniture, the brooches and rings and bars that make up the extensive contents of Porrim's jewellery cabinet. Nearly every corner of Porrim's cavernous bedroom -- respiteblock! 'respiteblock' is the word here -- is set to shining by the time Jane reaches her destination, her slender path opening on and on and _on_ to a nigh-on bird's eye view of a city-block-sized chamber. It's riotously if tastefully colourful, with ornately patterned sky-blue walls punctuated with graceful round windows framed with sheer silver and violet curtains. Every single surface, it seems, is stacked high with scraps of glimmering fabric she could use as parachutes in a pinch, draped over intimidating-looking textbooks the size of some human _libraries_... and right at the end of a steep drop from the tips of Jane's toes, sprawled elegantly atop a million and one luxurious half-mile-wide beast-fur blankets, the very lady Jane was looking for.

It's right around then that Porrim well and truly wakes up.

Jane's never known whether it's intentional, the way her girlfriend almost seems to catch fire as soon as the sunlight washes over her. As soon as the troll indulges in her first languid stretch of the day, her smooth stone-grey skin sparks and ignites into a glow so dazzling white it hurts Jane's eyes a little to look at it, like it's its own star wrapped up in a skyscraper-sized drop-dead gorgeous alien vampire... sort of package. Soon afterward, Porrim cracks one eye open, then the other, marigold scleras and jade-green irises (and Jane could waste every last drop of blue and yellow food dye she had trying to recreate that shade), restored to their proper living-troll colours and impeccably free of any make-up from previous days or nights.

When she's blinked the sleep out of her eyes, and her glow has dimmed so it's more of a gentle sparkle suffusing her skin, she looks around her for Jane's customary presence. As soon as she catches Jane's eye, she smiles, her fangs flashing for a moment, and _oh_ , it is so unfair that that's as sexy as it is. If there's one person, human or troll or cherub or what have you, that has never exactly been body-shy, it's Porrim Maryam -- so she doesn't even reach for any sort of pyjamas or underwear as she stretches one more time and slinks up from her nighttime perch -- up and up and _up_ , until her face is just about level with Jane's just-a-shade-off-of-vertiginous vantage point.

Sburb sort of neglected to mention it: the trolls and humans were only the same size throughout their time playing Sburb for convenience's sake, it'd seem. But, Jane thinks as she carefully leans forward to press a kiss to the tip of Porrim's long, sloping nose, they're certainly managing more than acceptably.

"Good morning," Jane says.

"Indeed." Porrim smiles again, reaching up to place a hand to the ledge where Jane stands. Jane cheerfully steps out onto her girlfriend's palm and sits down, cross-legged, as Porrim gently brings her hand down to hold Jane just in front of her face. Her gentle breaths ruffle Jane's hair, which tickles a little, but not at all in a bad way. "Did you sleep well?"

"I slept all right! I mean, except for the fact that I don't think Dave has quite gotten the picture about the exact nature of the relationship between you and me, so he's been being something of a pest."

Porrim sighs. "Are you quite sure he hasn't gotten the picture, or could it be that he's pressing on because he thinks he can win you over with persistence?"

"Oh, no, Dave's a really good guy! He and John are best friends, after all, and I think it's fair to say we can trust my ecto-poppop's judgment. Well, at least every so often. Dave actually gets most interpersonal business pretty well these days, I think. He just... you know. Still oblivious sometimes. I really ought to just tell him outright we're dating. I guess I shouldn't have thought it was obvious."

The troll chuckles (which also is unfairly sexy). "The shared hive and copious amounts of time spent in one another's presence in general notwithstanding, I suppose."

Jane rolls her eyes, smiling. "Right? Oh, well. John might even be the first one to break the news before I even talk to him again. Anyway, how did you sleep?"

"Wonderfully, thank you." She pauses meaningfully, and adds, "I dreamed about you."

In that moment, Jane takes notice of the Look, fully deserving of that capitalization, in Porrim's eyes. The things-that-are-unfairly-sexy pile doesn't stop from getting taller. She feels a blush creep up from her toes to the crown of her head.

It has been what seems like ages when it comes to re-acquainting herself with every nook and cranny of her girlfriend's body, too -- already, she's perilously close to Porrim's thumb, which, she recently found out, has more than a few interesting bumps and ridges of bone to spare. "What'd you dream about?" she asks. She probably resembles a red velvet pancake herself right now.

"Well, I'm sure you'll recall the fun we had when you took a tour of my mouth just two nights ago. And... my toes, I believe, the night before that one?"

Yep, Jane is just about on fire right now. She's a _scorched_ red velvet pancake. But she's got to admit, she doesn't think they'll ever run out of new experiences that way. Or any way, for that matter. "I do! But... you're sure you don't want me to whip something up for you first?"

Porrim frowns, bringing her other hand up to stroke Jane's back and shoulders with her little finger. "Jane, dear, that's lovely of you, but it's so much work for you to go to this early."

"I don't mind! And hey, you know that if anyone is up to a challenge like that, it's me, right?"

"That's true." Porrim's smile returns. "But anyway, I think I can wait for some time yet." The Look hasn't left her eyes either.

Now that Jane thinks about it, she herself isn't so hungry or eager to cook any more. Nor can she stop the grin growing on her own face all over again -- and, sure, she might have her own permutation of the Look in her own bag of tricks after all. "Afterward, then?"

"Afterward," Porrim agrees.

Somewhere between hearing those words and getting to work unbuttoning her pyjamas pronto, Jane idly, happily decides that however literally world-famous that pancake recipe may be, this is, by far, a more tradition-worthy way to begin the day.


End file.
